


May ==> December

by shellebelle



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, May/December Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-07
Updated: 2018-11-07
Packaged: 2019-08-20 00:46:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16545575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shellebelle/pseuds/shellebelle
Summary: Dirk sometimes goes downstairs to visit a certain old guy—he was an old-timey comedian, retired now and alone in the world—and comes back and goes into his room. You worry about the kid. He's fourteen and he should be out with other kids his age. You don't know why this guy is hanging out with your bro.





	May ==> December

**Author's Note:**

> This is another thing that has been sitting on my hard drive for a year or so. I think it's fun and cute so I want to share it. I hope you enjoy this!

==>Be Dave Strider

 

You are Dave Strider, and you are a very successful movie director, living in Los Angeles, in a high rise apartment building with your younger brother, Dirk.

You have a pretty good life, and you and Dirk don't live like “Hollywood People” because that's just fucking lame, and if there's one thing you're not, it's _fucking lame_. You're a very private person, you like being “normal”, even if that's seen as being “aloof” in tabloid-speak. You like living in an apartment building, albeit on the top floor, having access to the roof for your strifes, and being able to chill with your little bro when you're able to have time off.

You like having neighbors. You know all of the people who share the top floor with you. You know the people downstairs a floor, too. Dirk likes to ride his skateboard in the hardwood hallways. Your neighbors are cool with him doing it as long as he stops by dinner hour.

Dirk sometimes goes downstairs to visit a certain old guy—he was an old-timey comedian, retired now and alone in the world—and comes back and goes into his room. You worry about the kid. He's fourteen and he should be out with other kids his age. You don't know why this guy is hanging out with your bro.

So while Dirk is in school, you go down to knock on his door.

“Just a moment, I'm coming!” His voice sounds...well, not like an old person's voice, that's for sure. You hear a click and the door opens and there's this old guy leaning on a cane. “Oh, hello. You must be Dirk's brother. He's told me a lot about you. Come in!”

He has a bright smile—not Hollywood Bright, but _happy_ -bright, his teeth have yellowed a little with age, and the front teeth are a little bucked—and his blue eyes twinkle. “'Sup? Just wanted to meet the guy Dirk's spending so much of his time with.” Guy looks real familiar, too. You think you remember seeing some of his films.

He chuckles. “Dirk's a good boy,” he says. “He's a good listener to an old rambler like me. And boy is he a smart kid.” He heads into the living room—this is one of the smaller units, though still nice, spacious, and modified to accommodate the wheelchair in the corner. “And I'm sorry, I'm being rude. I'm John Crocker. Would you like anything to drink? I've got beer if you want it—it's shitty beer but it's beer.”

The corner of your mouth tilts up. You like this guy. You're a good judge of character, and this guy? He's good. You just know it. His hand trembles a little as he hands you a bottle of beer. “So what do you guys talk about all day down here?”

“Oh, he likes to hear me tell stories. He tells me about the new robots he's working on—it's pretty fascinating to me, I must say...never thought of such things happening in my lifetime. And it's...pretty lonely, here all by myself.”

“No family?” he asks, and there's a little sympathy there. You know what it's like to be alone in the world—well, alone but for your brother. If you didn't have him to try for, you wouldn't have accomplished nearly as much in your life as you have.

He sighs, wearily. “It's a long story.”

“You don't have to tell me, man. It's cool.”

John grins at you. “Good, because it isn't something I like to talk about. How's the movie business? I have to say I enjoyed your first movie very much. It made me laugh.” He speaks as if that's a thing that doesn't occur too often. Which is...somehow...unimaginably sad.

“I'm glad you liked it.”

“I haven't gotten out to see the new one...it's hard for me to get out, you know?”

“I can imagine.” You know it's difficult. You know he has money, since he's living in this particular building, but if he didn't, it would be exponentially more difficult.

“Which is why I'm grateful to young Dirk for keeping me company. He helped me off the bus with my marketing one day, those blasted oranges kept falling all over the street, and some other young people were kicking them away from me. He really came to my rescue, let me tell you that! Some of the oranges couldn't be salvaged but most of them were okay...I'm rambling, aren't I? That tends to happen, I'm a big dork.” He grins again, and you find yourself liking this guy more and more. You can understand why Dirk hangs around with him.

“I'm glad Dirk could help you. He's a good kid, but don't tell him I said that. Got to keep him on his toes, right?'

He chuckles. “I like your style,” he said. He took a long drink of his beer. “I'm allowed to have one of these per day. Thank you for taking one with me. I miss bars sometimes.”

“Hey, any time you want to hit a bar sometime, just let me know. I'll take you for a spin any time.” You wink at him.

To Dave's surprise, as John chuckled that time, he also blushed. Dave took note of it, even though it faded quickly. “I think I would like that. It would be nice to be able to socialize again.”

And that was how Dave Strider and John Crocker began having Thursday bar-hopping nights.

 

~*~

 

You're glad that Dirk doesn't begrudge you a friendship with John, because honestly, he's just...really kind of neat, and you mean that unironically. He just doesn't seem _old_ to you, except when his hands shake a little bit. You've learned he gets some home care services, that a nice girl comes in to help him do laundry and cook meals and do housework, and a young man sometimes helps him with showering and personal care. He tells you their names, and what they talk about with him.

You think he just wants to talk—he just wants to talk to them, to you, to anyone at all—and forget that he's all alone in the world. You thought you'd read that he had a son and granddaughter somewhere, and why they're not with him, taking care of him, that's beyond you. But you don't ask, and you won't, not till he brings it up.

He doesn't.

On Thursdays, you go anywhere within walking distance, and there are a lot of places within walking distance. John prefers neighborhood-type bars, with guys his age sitting at them, talking about WWII, about Vietnam, about how the kids don't play outside anymore.

You're surprised there are places like that still around, actually. Especially in L.A.

But for the most part, they're like any other bars, with guys John's age steadily drinking their beers or scotches, and guys your age doing shots and chatting up women. Some places have dancing, some don't. Either way, you and John always seem to have plenty to talk about. You're both semi-famous, sometimes you get asked for autographs, but for the most part, people leave you alone.

John sighs into his beer. “The girls these days all look the same,” he says mournfully. “It's a pity. And the boys are starting to look the same too.” He eyes a man of about thirty. “It's really too bad. People should look the way they were meant to look, even if it's not perfect.”

You shrug. “I'm not sure why girls feel they have to make themselves skinny and change everything about themselves in order to feel attractive,” you say. “And...I tend to look more at the guys anyway.”

John grins. “So do I...Well, even so, I do still like to see a confident, attractive woman.”

...So he's gay. Or bi. Huh. Somehow, you wouldn't have expected that.

“You're shocked at me,” he says, chuckling. Huh, you guess some of that must have shown on your face.

“No way, that is not even a thing.” It totally was a thing. You expected him to be as het as het gets.

“Liar, pants on fire,” he pronounces solemnly, tipping his beer towards you. And then he smiles that derpy smile again. “Don't worry, I was so far in the closet for so many years, I may as well have been.” He sighs wistfully. “Just...born too soon, kiddo. Born too soon.”

You're curious. There's a story there. But the look in his eyes is far too sad, and this is their night out. You don't want to pry, not tonight.

“Welp,” you say, “at least you can look now. No one's gonna really care. Especially not in this town.”

“There is that,” he said, and raises his bottle to you. “Cheers.”

 

~*~

 

And then comes the day when Dirk calls you from John's apartment, frantic, because John has fallen, and he can't get up.

You remember that there was once a commercial for those little push buttony things that senior citizens could press to call for help, and the “I've fallen and I can't get up!” meme that followed. You want to punch past you in the face for _ever_ laughing at it.

John had fallen while trying to rise from his easy chair at some point the previous night, and laid there for nearly an entire day. He was cold and hurt and his skin was very pale, and he was shaking. You hurry down there while Dirk calls the ambulance.

You kneel beside him, putting a throw pillow beneath his head, your chest tight and scared. His eyes are sad, and he looks...truly old to you, for the first time. So fucking _frail_ , cold and gray, lying there helpless on the floor. You sit down and stroke his hair, and something in the region of your heart breaks. “You hurt anywhere?”

He nods, and takes a breath, and it sounds like it takes real effort to do. “Think I broke a hip.”

“Shit. The paramedics will be here soon. Till then, I'mma keep you company.”

John huffs a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Okay,” he says, and looks up at Dirk as he sits next to you. Dirk's mouth turns down a little, and then he starts fiddling with his phone, pulling up funny animal videos and showing them to John to make him laugh and pass the time.

It works, despite all the pain John is in, and when the paramedics get there, John is laughing at a kitten acting fierce at an orange ball, and he doesn't even feel the IV go into his arm.

 

 


End file.
